Mysterious Skies
by Luna Jackson
Summary: Figure skating is Jessika's passion and she wants to be in the Olympics some day. Her friends Navy and Capri have the same dream and are with her every step of the way. But what happens when things get mysterious?
1. My Day Is Going Great

The sound of birds chirping cheerfully shook me out of my dreamless sleep. No, it wasn't birds—though that would have been pretty darn awesome—it was my pesky cell phone alarm clock. The vibrating on my nightstand could annoy me worse then anything else in the world. I grunted harshly and yanked the charger cord from the top of the plastic soon-to-be-water-logged device. I let the smooth, slim cord fall from my hands onto my green-carpeted floor and slammed the cell phone down roughly on the black, wooden nightstand. I reached down to pull my gray comforter with black and silver leaves sprawled over it up to cover my face. The light was shielded from my view for a few seconds before the unthinkable happened. The "birds" chirped again. I pulled the covers off of my face and squinted across the room to catch the time on my Verizon FiOS cable box. Bright orange numbers were contrasted greatly against the pitch-black background and with my 20/20 vision; I could see the time perfectly. 7:43. Crap, crap, crap. I jumped up and yanked the sheets off of me. They fell in a messy pile atop my futon, but at this point in the morning, that was definitely not in my book of important things to do. I pulled the door handle—not twisted because it had mysteriously broken a few years back leaving me with no lock on my door—and pushed the door of the bathroom open that was located on my left side.

I did all of my late-getting-up morning rituals: Plugged in my flat iron—though I knew I would probably not even touch it and just go with a hair band to pull back my wavy, light brown bangs from my eyes—, brushed my teeth with the blue Aim toothpaste I hated with all of my heart because of the feeling of my mouth on fire every time I used it, and brushed my hair out thoroughly so I wouldn't have to waste time when I came back again after I was dressed. As I rushed out of the bathroom door to get back into my room I said good-bye to my father as he left early for work and in the back of my mind wished that he would pack my lunch for me. Even if he was my adopted father, he could still pack my lunch for me on a busy day, right? I didn't ask though, because he would probably say no anyway because he-himself was probably running late too and then that would be a waste of my breath and twenty seconds of my late morning rush to the bus stop and his late-leave for work.

My father was a generous man who always looked for the best in people. He was always honest with everyone and I think that's why my adopted mother fell in love with him in the first place. It's hard to find a man nowadays with compassion, sympathy, and pretty much all of the qualities of a 1800s gentleman. Straight down to the British accent. He had grown up in a small, quaint town just outside of London and that's where he met Mom. They where high school sweethearts and had been together since they first met at the homecoming game for their freshman year. I always though she might have fallen for his bright blue eyes or his sparkling, white smile with teeth as perfect as pearls. But, now that I actually appreciated these traits in guys—seeing as I didn't see it quite too often—I realized it was because of how he treated others. Everyone was equal and whoever he was speaking to was on the top of his agenda. He was also a romantic fool. Roses, poems, and songs about his lover complete with guitar and more passion then the eighth grade boys in my year could muster in more then a decade. Combined. He moved to America with Mom after they were married and had been living here in Florida since before I was brought into their lives. But, we'll touch on that story later, shall we?

I pulled on a one of my three pairs of blue jeans—not including the pairs that were so ridiculously colored I could only wear them with certain shirts—and threw on my purple "So Think You Can Skate" T-shirt. I threw out all of my clothes that were clean and still sitting in the laundry basket—unfolded I should admit—and found two different colored socks. No one would see them hidden inside of my black converse anyways, so who needs to match? I laced up the shoes and raced to the bathroom again. I applied my usual Bare Minerals, black eyeliner, and mascara and slid on my two friendship bracelets—I had always wanted to learn how to make them but was to lazy to learn—and slid on a plastic hair band with little teeth on the bottom so my unruly side bangs wouldn't come out by accident. I seriously owed the person who made these things with my life. I grabbed my blue messenger bag and shoved the light blue straps of my tulip bag—which was called a tulip bag because if you hung a green string from the bottom it would seriously look like a freakishly blue flower—up on my shoulder and ran for the door. It was now 8:01 and even if I made my lunch in record time, I still would not have made it to the bus stop in time. My mind raced back to remember if I had any money in my little peace-sign change purse. Thinking back to the Dear John movie last Friday with a few of my friends, I remembered I had about ten dollars left of the twenty my father had given me for tickets. Thank God he always forgot to ask for the change back.

I rushed out the door and closed it with a slam—which was probably the result of the air pressure in the house with all of the windows being open and all—and searched through my purse for the silver key I would need to complete my quest out of the door and to the bus stop in time to catch the yellow death-trap full of screaming sixth graders. My hands locked onto something cold and sharp and I yanked it from my bag. I shoved the key in the lock and turned it hard, knocking the door with my knee to push it shut. After pushing down on the handle to make sure I wouldn't come home with masked burglars robbing my house and shoving my three cats in plastic bags, I ran like the wind to the bus stop at the end of the street. A few houses later and my thighs on fire, I stepped through the grass and onto the side walk where the bus was supposed to pick up the passengers in this location at.

I threw my bags to the hard, cement ground and let my shoulder relax for a few seconds before the bus would take me on a noisy journey to the school that was located way to far away for the kids living at this side of town to be going too. I didn't understand how it was so hard to zone a school close to the kids that actually went there. My bus ride was a freaking hour long there and back and all I had to entertain me was my iPod, cell phone, and whatever book I had brought with me that day—which changed very often because I have no life and read all of the time. Okay, well, I have a life, and I only read if the book is fantastically amazing. Which explains why I'm almost done with the paper-back I am currently clutching in my hand after pulling it from my purse to read while I wait.

The wind around me whistled and I clutched my arms close to my chest to try and keep in the warmth I knew would escape anyways. The sun was right in front of me hanging high in the sky to indicate it was late morning, but not so late I should be eating my school lunch as of now. I saw a yellow figure coming into view on my left so I shoved the book back in my purse and swung the bags onto my shoulder. I looked down, grabbing for my knitted bag I knew held my ice skates. It wasn't there. I must have left it at home when I was rushing to get ready. How could I be so stupid? Rage filled me and I was completely angry with myself. Today was our last practice until the big show on Saturday and my last chance to get on the ice before I have to twirl around and possibly make a full out of myself as I try to remember the moves I would have remembered if I brought my freaking ice skates! I could see them with their cow-patterned blade covers and their untied laces wrapped feebly around the tops and looped carelessly into a messy bow-tie. I could even hear their calls as they sang out for me to rush home and grab them so I could win first place at the regional competition that was only a day away. The bus pulled up to were I was standing alone on the sidewalk. I sighed and turned my head to look back at were my hopes and dreams for my future lied. In that stupid wool bag with my stupid white skates and their stupid cow-print blade covers lying on the floor of my stupid bedroom. Maybe I was being over-dramatic. Maybe they would have an extra pair I could use for practice, maybe I could make it through coach's stern, twenty minute lecture on how important it is to bring my skates with me everyday to school so I would have them at the rink when the bell rang at 4:15 and I could rush across the busy highway over to my safe-haven and lace them up. And skate my heart out.

I climbed on the bus and looked for an empty seat. The one thing I hate about buses is the thought of someone sitting so close in proximity to me that with one false move of their elbow and I could be clutching my stomach in an attempt to breathe in the air that was forced out. Not my idea of fun if you tell me. Ah-ha! I rushed into a seat in the middle of the bus before the careless driver took off down the road while I was still standing. Wouldn't want to repeat of last year's little incident of being thrown backward into the window and being quite a sight for the driver waiting behind us. No, I think I would skip that mishap for today and try and make my bad day into a good one. Though it was already raining I could still turn my frown upside down, right? Well, I kept onto that hope as the bus turned a few more corners and we were on the main road again headed towards the school with only a few stops left.

Point-Brook Middle School is one of those schools that have a lot of useless history no cares about. But they still bother telling us at school assemblies anyways. It's got the architecture of an old church building with the stained glass windows and high vaulted ceilings. The teachers are… bearable. Okay, no, they are strict little monsters that should have probably retired two-hundred years ago because they were at least five-hundred. Yet, even through their old age, they still manage to torture us relentlessly. And by that I mean give long lectures about things no one gives a carrot stick about and they practically give us a whole college year of work to do in one night. Let me just tell you something, it sucks.

I pulled my book from my bag—seeing that it would be at least thirty minutes until we reached school—and started to read. It was the "Lovely Bones" by Alice Sebold. I admired her writing style and how she could go from talking about one thing and completely take you off course but bring you right back to the story without any trouble at all. The way she skips through the life of Susie Salmon—and the life after—is so beautiful it's like reading a book of poems. Along with being an Olympic figure skater, I hoped to also become a successful author who could keep a reader captivated long enough to get my point across and for the readers of my books to walk around wearing shirts with my characters on them. Though, the extent of people wearing plastic vampire teeth isn't really on my agenda of what I would like to accomplish.

I read through the chapters and the words swirled around in my head. Not in the I-can't-read-this way, but the wow-this-book-is-so-freaking-amazing-I'm-trying-to-take-it-all-in way. Before I knew it, the bus had come to a complete stop at the bus ramp at the front of the school. From the grimy window laced with gum and flies, I could see the normal cliques you would see at a middle school. Not so advanced as the high school cliques but they were still noticeable. To the left were the preps; the cheerleaders weirdly wearing their uniforms of short red skirts and shirts that said "Eagles" across the chest. Even without the usual pom-poms it still made me sick even to look at the sugar-coated gum-drops of Candy Land.

To the right were the Darks which consisted of all the black-wearing groups; the Goths, the Emos, and the rest of that wannabe crowd. They all fell into that category. In and among those groups were the skaters, the musicians, the athletes—jocks included with an occasional cheerleader here and there—and the environmental leaf-heads. I'm not the one who places these people in these categories so don't start pointing fingers at me, I just live here! Anyways, I hoped off the bus and went to the usual meeting spot of my friends: under the big oak tree in the side yard. I walked in-between the random bystanders that just had the mindset of keeping me from walking by not moving an inch when I would say polite things like "Excuse me." or "Please move." No, they had to have it the hard way, and so they were going to get it.

"Move it!" I yelled fed up with being polite _and_ this cruddy day. People moved when I used my loud voice. I took pride in that.

I felt the soft crunch of the grass as I walked over to a large tree at the edge of a far yard located at the side of the school. My two best friends were sitting there cross-legged with notebooks spread out on the grass and pencils in their hands and tucked behind their ears. When they heard me coming they looked up smiling and then went back to their probably forgotten homework.

"Hey guys!" I said taking a seat beside Navy on the grass underneath the oak.

Navy was my best friend since we first met in Beginning Ice School at the age of six. She had really red hair that looked like the color you'd find in a crayon box marked as "Carrot Red" and freckles were splattered across her face. Hey eyes were really green which I attributed to her "green" obsession. She could have been a total hippie. She always held rallies for saving whales and taught classes at the local library about how to recycle your trash and save water by turning off the sink when you are brushing your teeth or by taking five-minute showers. Yeah, I have picked up quite a lot of information from her, actually. She always wears tie-dye shirts or recycled bamboo fabric tees with quotes like "Pandas like the trees too!" or "Save some water for the whales!" written on them in colorful writing and bright pictures of the animal she is supporting.

"Hey there Jess…" she said sounding distracted, which she probably was.

"Did you guys, like, forget to do your homework or something?" I laughed taking in the sight of my friends doing homework under our big, oak tree.

"Don't laugh!" said my other best friend Capri.

Capri was, well, beautiful. She had long blonde hair and striking blue eyes. Her flawless complexion and tan skin would definitely make a super-model jealous. Capri was really into fashion, which I guess definitely fit her name. Stella McCartney, Calvin Klein, and Armani were the people she worshiped. She would rather buy a pair of two-hundred dollar sunglasses than eat for a week; which I've seen her do. But don't get me wrong, I love Capri like a sister but she is a little conceited at times.

Without the whole figure skating thing, however, none of us would have ever met. That's what conjoined us all at the hip like triplets and that's what we all had in a common; a passion that we all can understand because we all have the same one.

Navy looked up from her work and eyed me suspiciously likeI was hiding something. "Where are your skates?" she asked quizzically.

I sighed and looked down at my feet which were in butterfly position so I could get my stretches in for the morning to calm myself down. "Want to hear my mid-morning nightmare story?"

This seemed to catch Capri's attention because she quickly looked up and her eyes were full of eagerness. "Spill."


	2. I Meet Mister Emo

After dishing about my morning, the bell sounded loudly from the other side of the school. We usually took that as a cue to grab all of our belongings and high-tail it out of there as soon as possible so we wouldn't be late for first period class. I said good-bye to Navy and Capri and quickly speed-walked toward the nearest staircase. My feet pounded up the steps as I lazily forced myself to climb higher to the torture chamber of doom. And what I mean by that is, well, exactly what I said. First period math—the stupidest idea ever seeing as most of us forgot our lessons anyways since we weren't even awake to listen to them—on computers. The school board expected us to just come in everyday for class, take a seat in the hard, plastic blue chairs they supplied, and take math online. Sure, there was a teacher—a really evil teacher that didn't even do anything besides sit at her desk with her feet on the top drinking a Starbucks coffee loudly. Let's just say it was at least ten-times harder then a regular math class.

As I got to the top of the steps I took a quick breath of relief. Sure I was really in shape from exercising and ice skating everyday, but stairs were definitely not my specialty. I hurried over to my blue-colored locker and twisted the rough lock to the numbers of my combination. 27,27,27. Not really hard to forget if you ask me, and seeing as that was my lucky number anyways, the combination was like second nature. With a little force—seeing as my locker got stuck quite easily—I yanked it open and my heart filled with hope. Right there sitting on the top of my blue locker shelf was my knitted bag that contained my figure skates. My mind raced. I could have sworn I had left then in my room. And if I had left them in my room, how could they have gotten here—in my locker? No one even knew my combination except for well, Capri or Navy. But they couldn't have put them there because they were surprised to see me not have them this morning. I jerked my head around to see if someone was playing a practical joke on me or something, but that came up empty. The only people at their lockers so far were a few preps, about a dozen Darks, and a new kid attempting to break into what I supposed was his new locker. No cameras either so I guessed this wasn't being televised live on the school morning show.

I shoved my book-bag harshly into my locker, still confused at who put my skates in my locker. I grabbed my math spiral-notebook and planner and slammed my locker shut. The clang on metal to metal echoed through the almost empty hall way and I got a few menacing stares from the preps. The Darks all had their iPods in their ears—probably listening to death metal or some other form of loud, scream-o music—so they probably didn't even care. The new kid—who had dark brown, almost black hair—was still attacking his locker and probably making more noise then my one slam caused. His white fingers were clutching a textbook tightly as he swung with full force at the locker. Poor kid. I walked over to him with my books shoved in my bag and smiled at him. He looked over to me with an evil look in his dark eyes. He gave me the feeling that I wanted to run away screaming at the top of my lungs and desert him forever more. But I fought that feeling and stood my ground.

"Need any help?" I said meeting his eyes. I couldn't let him see I was afraid of him. Why should I be? He was only a new kid who was taller than me and gave me creepy looks with his dark eyes and dark hair covering one eye. _Hey, Darks _I thought_ got you a new family member._

"No I don't need any—"

The door of the locker came crashing down to the floor with a loud, harsh clang.

"See, I got it." His voice was smooth like honey, but dark too with an evil edge.

"Fine." I said giving him one last you-know-you-need-my-help stare and walking toward my first period class.

What was this kid's problem? Someone tries to help him get his locker open and he goes all I'm-the-cool-kid on them. No one does that! Obviously he had some mental problem or something. Anger management classes were what that kid needed. I didn't even know why I kept him in my mind longer then a second, but that evil eye was branded into my mind like a tattoo. I shook it off and twisted the handle of my math class. The cool, air-conditioned air blew my hair back over my shoulders and gave me that super-model-with-a-fan look. Ms. Live was sitting at her desk with her usual feet-on-the-desk position. She was flipping through a Seventeen magazine even though her age was probably somewhere around forty-seven. Not that she would ever tell us. I took a seat in the back of the class—which wasn't a surprise because it seemed like the teacher wanted to be as far from me as possible—and plopped down in the hard, plastic seat.

As I reached over to press the computer on, I heard the door open and then slam shut. I looked up with just my eyes above the screen to see the evil, dark-haired guy coming in. He didn't seem to notice me so I kept my eyes on him as he made his way over to Ms. Live's desk. He handed her a pink slip with his new class schedule on it and took a seat at the front of the room. What, did he think he was better then everyone else? You can't just take someone else's seat. Especially not one of the prep's if you ever expect to see daylight again. But I guess Ms. Live realized this too.

"Now, Mr. Di Angelo, that seat already has an owner," Go Ms. Evil—Live backwards.

"You will need to sit by Ms. Walters is you expect to stay in this class." Oh great. Now I get to sit by Mr. Emo himself.

I could hear Mr. Emo grunt harshly even from across the room. Most of the rest of the class had already started to file into the classroom and take their seats, so I was surprised no one gave him a notice. I quickly shuffled through my paper's to make it look like I wasn't watching him the whole time as he took a seat next to me at the large wooden desk that held two computers. He slammed his books roughly against the desk and I could feel the whole desk move from his force. Curious eyes looked over to him, but I just tried to think of ways I could get through the next year of sitting next to this kid. Usually, I liked it when new kids came to school because they were always the nice ones. Usually. This kid—Mr. Di Angelo apparently—really needed to get an attitude check.

"What the Hades am I supposed to do with this?" he said angrily.

He was holding onto the computer with both hands and smacking it roughly. Did this kid not know how to turn on a computer? And what the heck is "Hades"? I looked up at him with a wow-your-stupid-expression—not that he deserved anything less—and closed my planner I had been writing this week's assignments in.

"You press the button."

He flashed me angry, dark eyes and then pressed the power button on the computer. It flashed on and the Windows loading bar began to fill as the computer became more and more alive. "Oh, thanks."

I nodded and went to start a new online lesson on the computer.

"_To find a radical, you must first see if you can find any perfect squares. To do this, we recommend the tree-method."_

I leaned against the desk and began to take notes in my pink spiral-notebook. I quickly glanced over at Mr. Emo to see if he had finally figured out how to work a computer. But instead of working on a new lesson, he was feebly trying to type in his name in the "New Student" sign up log. He was up to "Nic" and we had been in this class for what, fifteen minutes already? I didn't know why, but this kid was interesting to me. He had apparently never been on a computer and he acted like he's never met another decent human-being before in his life. Maybe he needed a friend?

"Nick? Is your name Nick?"

He glared at me again. "No," he typed in an 'O', "It's Nico."

Aw, crap. First I get his name wrong and now he's correcting me. Not the best side to be on when you're talking to a new kid.

"Oh, sorry, I just assumed—"

"Drop it."

Okay, fine. You don't want any friends; you're not going to get any with that attitude.

"God, what is your problem?" Did I say that out loud? Yes? Good.

His eyes seemed to intensify in power and he gave me that evil look again. By now, I was pretty much immune to it. He looked away and began typing his last name.

At the end of class, the bell finally rang. I gathered up my books and turned my computer off. As I was about to stand up from my chair, I saw Nico standing in front of me with a black backpack slung around his shoulder. His eyes were closed tight. And he was blocking my way. Was he going to apologize or something? It would have surprised me seeing as I didn't even think he had an apologetic bone in his body.

"Excuse me?" I said rudely in my angry voice. He didn't move an inch.

His eyes opened and he sighed loudly. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? Bad day."

Okay, so he was going to apologize. I decided to milk this for all it was worth.

"Well, you didn't have to be so rude about it. And what was with the locker this morning? You know you have to pay—"

"Gods, just shut up! I don't think you even know how annoying—"

"Me annoying? How about—"

"Miss Walters, Mr. Di Angelo, I suppose you would both like to spend this afternoon scraping gum off of the computer desks?"

This is _not_ happening.

"Sorry, Ms. Live, but I have figure skating—"

"And I have somewhere to—"

"Save it, both of you. I will see you this afternoon at 4:15 sharp, or you will have another detention tomorrow."

Are you seriously kidding me? Now that my ice skates magically appeared in my locker, I thought I might actually have a chance to practice this afternoon. Now I have to spend the entire practice time scrapping up ABC—already been chewed—gum off of the computer desks with Mr. Emo himself—Nico.

"Yes, Ms. Live." I said with a definite sigh in my voice to maybe make her change her mind.

"Yes, ma'am." sneered Nico evilly.

As much I wanted to scream my head off at Ms. Live with her brown hair and gray streaks and her glasses that she kept on the tip of her nose, I knew I couldn't or else I'd be scraping gum for the rest of eternity. Nico pretty much ran to the door and flung it open almost hitting Leah Nelson—one of the geeks complete with glasses and an overbite—straight in the face.

I followed after him—not on purpose but the way he was walking was the way I needed to go—and rushed over to my locker. I spun the knob harshly and had to put in my combination at least three times because my locker just decided to make my bad day even worse. I pulled up the lever, shoved my books in and grabbed the ones I would need for history, and slammed it shut again. I didn't even bother looking at how Nico's locker looked without a door because if I saw his face one more time, I probably would have ripped it off myself. I opened the door to my history class and took a seat next to Navy. Thank God we had the same class so I had someone to talk to.

"Jess, you look positively…frustrated." She said looking at me curiously with worried eyes.

That was an understatement.

"You think?" I said in an annoyed voice.

I know I shouldn't be mad at Navy, it's not like she did anything wrong to get me in this mood. I heard the door open and in walked the last person I wanted to see right now: Nico.


End file.
